Finding Comfort in New Places
The mid-day break separating morning classes from an afternoon full of club meetings and work was suddenly interrupted by my dancing phone, as it vibrated across the glass coffee table. It was a pre-set reminder. I’d chosen today to pay my long overdue first visit to the Minnesota Marine Art Museum. I grabbed my keys, slapped the garage opener, and began the short drive across town. With each turn signal and green light, I could feel my body become increasingly uneasy as I neared the destination. Pulling into the near-empty parking lot, I couldn’t help but notice the beauty of the building as it balanced on the bank of the Mississippi River. Leaving the familiarity of my car, I allowed my eyes to fixate on the double set of doors. On one hand, they represented the entrance to a new experience. On the other, they were the exit from my comfort zone.
Once inside the exhibit hall, I fortuitously examined the first several pieces. Not until I remembered the value, age, and work that went into the artwork around me did I begin to apply some thought to each piece. Eventually, I came across a painting that truly caught my attention. I stood there for several minutes, frozen. Captivated by oil on canvas. Something about Claude Monet’s La Seine à Vétheuil 1881 seemed wildly familiar. The impressionist style of the painting caused the scenery to resemble certain landscapes of my past. Although Monet’s pond carries the pixelated reflections of the surrounding vegetation resembled the mirror of a turbid stream. The lack of detail in the trees reminded me of the creek-side structure made unidentifiable by the cloak of the morning fog. And when I look at Monet’s colorful sunlit hillside, I am told which side of the stream is shady enough to comfort the eyelid-less fish. Suddenly, it triggered memories of the times I’d found belonging in new and unfamiliar places.
New Experiences are often accompanied by feelings of discomfort and anxiety. Years ago, I decided to take up fly fishing. My birthplace, the driftless region, pulls fisherman from all corners of the country due to the incredible trout habitat. Having grown up next to a stream, I became drawn to the peacefulness of fly fishing, and loved talking to the seasoned anglers about the sport. Even at a young age, I was a successful trout fisherman through the sole use of spinners on a conventional rod and reel. Unfortunately, I was not yet old enough to drive, which forced me to fish only the streams reachable by bike. Once I was able to branch out into the endless network of tributaries and mineral springs, I decided my days of casting spinners were over. So with nothing more than a set of waders fit to strain pasta and the cobweb covered fly rod of my uncle’s garage, I began planning my first excursion. It took only a few days (and spools of line) until I felt comfortable with the new assortment of knots necessary for even the most basic set up. Now, only a trip to the fly shop separated me from a whole new facet of the outdoors. Leaving the comfort and familiarity of traditional trout fishing in the past.
Years later I arrived in Winona, MN to continue my college education. As a transfer student, I’d missed the dorms, and two years’ worth of the other various events or traditions that bring WSU’s students together. Feeling vulnerable and out of place, I gravitated towards my comfort zone. That first weekend, I stepped into my first Minnesota Trout stream. It was no more than a few minutes out of town, but I felt hours from anywhere. Before the sun had made itself known, I parked my car on the side of the road, and walked towards the sound of running water. Mist blanketed the tall grass of the valley floor, encapsulated by the surrounding bluffs. I started towards the creek, lugging through the waist high grass, drooping from the weight of the morning dew. When I reached the water, I sat on the bank and began the tedious process of rigging a fly rod. I pulled out some slack, connected the backing to the leader, the leader to the tippet, and finally the tippet to the fly.
While still sitting on the bank, the sun’s laminating glow began to emerge, giving me enough light to begin spotting for fish. Slowly, I began the tedious search for the narrow silhouettes of trout beneath the broken surface of the running water. I started to move upstream to continue scouting the water when I noticed that just around the bend, stood the greatest fisher man of all time. For a few peaceful minutes, I studied her methods in hopes of picking up even the slightest tip. She stood perfectly still with her head tilted down at the shallow running water in which she stood. The legend had spotted a fish. Without warning, her spear like beak torpedoed beneath the surface, causing little sound or splash. The Heron’s head popped out of the water, revealing an unsuccessful attempt at a morning meal. Instead of continuing to watch her have all the fun, I decided it was time to try my own luck.
While I slowly eased into the frigid edge of the stream, the Heron looked over her back in my direction. Taking only one brief look, she spread her wings and lifted off into the mist of the summer morning. No longer star struck by her talent, I unhooked the fly from the cork handle of my pole, and began fishing Winona water for the first time. With each cast, the lime green backing sliced through the orange smear of the sunrise overhead. The thick line forcing the weightless fly to follow its every move until finally guiding it safely to the destination. Landing beneath the mossy overhang caused by erosion from the summer rain, the fly was no longer visible. As the waters current gently carried back in my direction, I waited for a strike while simultaneously collecting the excess slack. I was driven to catch a fish where the heron had not. I moved up the stream at a snail’s pace, consciously minding the instincts of the skittish bodies who were invisible beneath the surface. All through the morning, I fished the meandering stream only to have the same luck as the hungry Heron. Fortunately, I knew breakfast was waiting for me in Winona.
In the two years that have passed, I have continued to frequent the natural amenities that Winona has to offer. I no longer see place as an unfamiliar home, but instead one that brings me incredible comfort. As I have met new people and created wonderful relationships, I never forget where it all began. Through leaving my natural element, I have been introduced to the many wonders of this city. Had I not, most of them would have stayed hidden beneath the surface.
